


For You To Burn

by Pameluke



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece Flavored, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Background Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Background Maryse Lightwood, Character Death, Curses, Inspired by Greek Tragedies, Inspired by The Iliad - Homeros, M/M, Magnus Bane-centric, Moral Ambiguity, Parents Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Prince Alec Lightwood, Seer Magnus Bane, Violence, Visions, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/pseuds/Pameluke
Summary: At fifteen, Magnus is cursed. Or maybe, since he’s the son of a god, his life had been cursed from the day he was born.Asmodeus covets him, wants Magnus to follow him, to pray to him for aid... expects Magnus to love him. But Magnus sees the magic in his father's eyes for what it is, destruction and fear and pain, and so, Magnus refuses. In a fit of rage, furious that a son of his would choose humanity over him, Asmodeus curses Magnus.Undaunted, Magnus decides he'll make his own future, that his choices shall remain his. He lives his life in peace, not letting his visions of a burning city scare him or decide his path. Until... one morning, he sees Alexander's face and knows that his fate is determined.Magnus will never let him go.





	For You To Burn

 

 _“Truly we are creatures of labor and suffering, and nothing for long._  
_Labor and suffering, and the plain sight of our destiny is the cruelest thing of all."_  
_― Euripides, Iphigenia in Aulis _―_  _

 

 

The village burns.

The raid had come unexpected, the village insignificant, with very little to take. All the easier to raid it. Magnus had accompanied his mother on her daily pilgrimage to the sea, had offered bread and seashells to the god of the Deep. On their way back, they hear the screaming before they see the smoke.

His mother urges him to run, run back to the sea, even though there is nowhere to go beyond the beach. Magnus can’t swim. Then red blooms on her chest, her face freezing in shock and horror. Magnus only sees the sword when she falls to the ground.

Behind her a laughing man appears and disappears into the smoke again, red circle painted on his neck, armor turned dark with blood. He looks like a demon from the nightmares Magnus had as a boy.

Magnus doesn't know how long he screams, voice turning hoarse. He doesn’t know where the raider disappears to, doesn’t care that his hands are stained with his mother’s blood, doesn’t notice anything but his mother’s dying breath.

Compared to his own, her hand feels cool to the touch, pale and lifeless. “Come back,” he begs, biting back the tears burning behind his eyes. “Don’t leave me, please.”

His mother stays still.

Magnus burns. The rage and grief consume him whole, eating at him from the inside. His mother, his beautiful and gentle mother, is dead.

Magnus screams. Curses his father for his absence, the raiders for their existence, and the gods for their indifference.

With effort, fuelled by his rage, he lifts his mother, holding her under her back and legs, and walks her back to the village.

He doesn’t notice the sparks lighting up the dry grass where he walks, doesn’t notice that his mother’s skin turns black, burning to a crisp, where he holds her. He can barely see through his tears.

He stumbles through the village, finally runs out of strength when he reaches their house. It’s been ransacked, broken pottery and torn clothes everywhere. Like his mother, the house is ruined and destroyed, and no longer feels like his.

He ignores the glimpses of people he can see through the smoke, ignores the men adorned with red circles wielding destruction, ignores the wailing villagers, ignores other kids screaming for their parents.

All he sees are his mother's lifeless eyes. He lays her down on the grass in front of their house, falling to his knees. Tenderly closes her eyes, fingers leaving soot on her face.

He weeps.

The more Magnus cries, the more he feels something build inside of him, something angry and powerful.

When he opens his eyes again, fire pours out.

Magnus burns. The village burns with him.

*

Magnus drowns. His father bound him to stones while he was sleeping and threw him in the sea. Because he’s not human. Because a long time ago, his mother was visited by a god who took her to bed and she bore his fruit. Because the magic of the gods had escaped him when he lost his mother and had destroyed everything and everyone in its wake.

The power surges inside him even now, hot and raging, seeking a way out. But the water that's taking away his breath, is taking away his power as well. His budding flames are no match for the weight of the sea. Maybe it’s a fitting punishment for his crimes.

Magnus sinks to the Deep.

“My son,” the sea welcomes him in its cold and suffocating embrace. “Burning so bright, so fast. You’re not meant to die this soon.”

Magnus can’t see, can’t feel anything except the sea, and yet he hears the voice crystal clear through the roaring water in his ears.

His true father.

Magnus has no air left to speak, no strength left to fight.

“I don’t want you to join me, against your will, sent by another. Before you’ve come to your true powers…”

Magnus can taste the disappointment in the salt filling his throat, can feel the apathy and disdain in how the water presses down on him.

He’s never wanted to involve himself with the gods and doesn’t want to now. His mother’s gone, his stepfather is drowning him - there’s nothing left for him that would be worth risking getting involved with the gods.

“One day, you shall return to my embrace,” his father says. “You’ll be powerful as is becoming to a son of mine, you’ll come to me of your own free will, and we’ll rule the Deep together.”

Magnus shakes his head, tries to tell his father, this otherworldly being, this god, that he doesn’t agree to this, that he’s made peace with his death. But it’s all to no avail.

He comes to the surface, spitting salt water out of his mouth while he rises to his feet in the surf. On the beach, far out on the white sand, hot and burning at his feet because the water never reaches there, he finds his stepfather. Drowned.

“I will see you soon,” Magnus hears in the breaking waves. He hears it for the threat it is.

*

“I don’t understand why you do these things by hand,” Asmodeus says, leaning on his cane.  
Magnus ignores his father and puts more wet linens on the line.

Not willing to be ignored, Asmodeus pokes one of Magnus’ tunics with his cane. “Son of mine, you have fire magic of your own, could wield my water magic if you wanted to, and yet, here you are, wasting yourself on washing clothes and letting them dry in the elements… You’re the son of a god, it’s time you act like one. Accept your birthright.”

Magnus shakes his head. He thinks of his mother, of their small house at the center of their village. Of the way her arms would be covered in clay while she turned pots, how steady her heart would beat while she helped him mold the clay. That’s his birthright, clay and a potter’s wheel. He drapes another cloth over the line, smirking when the wet fabric almost hits his father in the face. “Magic has brought me nothing but pain and loss,” he says. “I won’t use it, not even for the betterment of myself. I’ll live my life amongst men, and live as them.”

Asmodeus smiles, cocks his head a little. “There’ll be a day, son of mine, that you’ll embrace your power and mine, and will come to me to rule the Deep beside me, and you’ll forget all of this nonsense. The daily woes of man are beneath you, Magnus. You’re my son.”

I’m my mother’s son, Magnus thinks. He remembers the warmth of her smile, the tenderness of her arms, the softness in her voice as she sang him to sleep. Remembers the scent of her human flesh as it burned. She was no god, and neither is Magnus.

“I refuse,” Magnus says, resolutely. “This magic isn’t a gift. It’s a curse and I never wished for it. So no, I won’t join you and I won’t rule the Deep with you. My place is here, struggling in the dirty mud like everybody else. Not amongst the gods. I don’t want to wield that kind of power. I’m… Power like mine, power like yours… It should only be in the hands of the good.”

Asmodeus laughs. It starts with a low chuckle, but soon his laughter booms over the fields. When it dies out, there’s not a living thing moving, an unnatural quiet settling over the fields. Not even the grain moves. “Good and evil have nothing to do with power. Power comes to those who take it, and you, my son, will wield fire and water both, and the sheer, blistering power of you will reap destruction upon all, and you won’t regret it. There is a time when we all must return to live in the houses of our fathers.”

His voice has the ring of true prophecy to it, and for a single moment Magnus is frozen, caught in the spell of it. Then Magnus shakes his head again, disentangling himself of his father’s lures.  
It’s never wise to argue with gods, but this is his father. He’s been pushing back ever since Asmodeus spit him back out on that beach. If he’s swallowed back up, then so be it.

“I know who I am,” Magnus says. He knows who he wants to be. “And I’ll never wield my power like you want me to.”

Asmodeus smiles disparagingly, teeth gleaming white in his face. “I see I’ve bred a fortune teller.” He leans forward and grasps Magnus by the chin to look him deeply in the eyes, his eyes flashing an inhuman yellow.

They say no human can look the gods in the eye, that you’ll burn and go mad. Magnus burned a long time ago.

“So the future you will see. All the futures that can be,” Asmodeus whispers, voice soft, but his words a violent force that boils Magnus’ blood. “As you spoke of your future now, you'll see the future always: bright and certain. And since you have so little faith in your dearest father, as you won’t believe me, so no one shall believe you. No matter how you try to warn them, no matter what you say, your words will fall on deaf ears. All but one, but he'll be struck by a greater curse in life."

Asmodeus’ fingers linger on Magnus’ face a moment, thumb stroking his cheekbone tenderly in a mock caress. Then he steps back, clapping his hands a couple of times as if to dust them off. He offers no other words. There’s a sudden rush of wind, blowing the cloths up between them. In a blink of an eye, Asmodeus has disappeared.

Magnus grinds his teeth. He doesn’t quite believe his father – he doesn’t feel any different – and he refuses to believe a man isn’t responsible for his own fate. No matter what the gods have in store for him, Magnus will be in charge of his own future, and his choices will remain his. No one needs to believe in him for that.

*

The city burns. The fire rages so violently it’s eating the city from within. Magnus feels the heat on his face, tastes the ash on his lips while he runs. His lungs burn with smoke, his heaving breaths still not getting him enough air. He doesn’t hear the screaming, only the deafening roar of the fire behind him.

Magnus blinks. All is quiet. People bustle around him as if nothing is amiss. A little dazed, he continues his way through the familiar curves of the alleys and streets leading towards the market. He frowns. He knows the lay of this city, knows how to orient himself in the maze of little streets since he made a home here after fleeing the land he grew up in.

This is not the city that burns.

It should be a relief, it should mean he isn’t in any danger. And yet.

And yet.

He could truly feel the heat of the fire on his skin, can still taste the smoke on his tongue. His fear… his fear had felt real. Somewhere, somewhen, out there, a city burns, and Magnus cares.

His father’s face flashes before his eyes, the glint in his eyes as he’d cursed Magnus still fresh in his memory. But it can’t be. It must have been a dream. A reverie. He wouldn’t… He can’t…

Magnus is just a man. Making his way to the market to sell his wares. He can’t see the future.

*

The city burns. There’s smoke and falling ash everywhere, making it hard to see. But Magnus knows these roads, knows these walls. He’s lived here long enough he can run these streets blind. It’s the fear that takes his breath away, the people clutching at him slowing him down, while they beg for his help and scream senselessly. He doesn’t care about these people, he only cares about –

Magnus blinks. His heart is racing, but there isn’t a fire anywhere. It was the same city as before, still not one he recognizes from seeing in reality. But it had felt familiar. Felt like home. And he’d cared. The fear he felt, it felt like when… when his mother –

He can feel the fire in his veins. An answer to his distress.

Magnus walks out of the house. Decides he needs to drink away these… visions.

*

The plains burn. It looks like a wildfire from afar, but Magnus knows by the dread in his stomach it isn’t. Raiders have come. He’s safe on the walls, looking out over the fire. Behind it, in the distance, the blue sea glints in the sun. Both are calling to him, the sea and the inferno, pulling at him to join his power with theirs.

Magnus turns around when someone whispers his name. Warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile greet him. He carefully touches Magnus’ cheek, kisses Magnus softly on the lips in greeting. It’s a simple kiss, but Magnus forgets the fire, forgets the city, forgets everything but the fire burning in his veins.

Magnus blinks. He’s alone in the room, and yet he touches his lips, to make sure he hasn’t just been kissed. The man was beautiful. And Magnus… Magnus loved him.

Magnus is loved. In some future, in another city, in another life, Magnus is kissed by the man he loves while the world burns around them.

Magnus pours himself more wine. The quiet of the house is unsettling, the loneliness a pressing weight on his shoulders. He has lived alone since he came here, afraid that close living quarters might mean people figuring out the secret hiding behind his eyes and in his veins. He hasn’t felt a loving caress like that in so long, has only known the embrace of strangers since his mother died.

It’s so tempting, to try to figure out where the man is from. To try and find him. He’s seen large parts of the city by now, visions plaguing him almost every day now. A city with walls like that must be widely known. He could ask amongst the traders at the market. Find the city, find the man who makes his heart feel again. Or, if that were to fail, he could throw his fate to the seas and let the currents of his father’s waters deliver him to the future he wants for Magnus. Bring him to the city that burns.

Magnus touches his lips again, his eyes closed, a featherlight caress of his fingers. To be kissed like that… the vision feels like a memory, like a phantom touch that is almost there. But, even more vividly, Magnus remembers how it feels, to be consumed by fire, to have everything around him burn down to ash. No man is worth that. Not even one he might love.

*

The city burns. Bonfires are lit everywhere, to welcome home the long-missed travelers. The yellow-stoned walls reflect the warmth of the fires, making the air around him simmer and the city seem alight. He’s surrounded by faceless people, everyone moving towards the city gates, looming large in the onset of dusk. Everything tastes of excitement and expectation, and Magnus hurries along, swept away on the current. The crowd opens up, so Magnus can see the riders arrive through the gate. One familiar figure, taller and darker than the people in his company, searches the faces until his warm eyes fall onto Magnus.

Even in the summer heat, the fire in his eyes takes Magnus’ breath away. He runs. They both do.

They meet in the middle of the crowd, the man’s big hands cradling Magnus’ face, his warm lips catching the breath on Magnus’ lips without hesitation. Magnus’ heart beats heavily in his chest, overcome with deep and undeniable happiness. His beloved is back, safely in his arms.

When they part, the man’s smile is brighter than the sun, blinding Magnus with his warmth and beauty. Magnus gets lost in it, until the motion of red hair catches his attention. Behind his beloved, a redheaded girl is obviously out of place, the absence of runes on her skin marking her a foreigner, like Magnus. Magnus’ happiness evaporates at the sight of her, dread taking its place in his heart.

Magnus blinks.

He can’t recall ever knowing happiness like that, not as all-encompassing. He can’t quite believe that a person could make him so happy, can’t believe that someone out there in the world could touch his heart like that.

He wants to find him, wants to discover if this love would feel as overwhelming in reality, wants to know if this man is worth all of the destruction that comes after. And… if the girl he saw is indeed the herald of all the doom Magnus has seen for the city, that means he might put a stop to it. After all, he’s never seen the future where she doesn’t reach the city.

For a moment, for the first time since the death of his mother, Magnus feels hopeful. He’s prepared to leave everything behind once again. To find the city that burns to rescue it from itself. But then he recalls his father’s curse. No one will believe him. And in the end… he’ll be the one to doom them all.

Magnus pours another glass of wine. He’ll stay where he is.

*

The city burns.

The taste of ash and smoke mixes with the salt on the wind and the salt of his tears. The surf breaks around his ankles, the water deceptively calm. Magnus walks forward. The city is burning, and Magnus has lost… he’s lost… he’s lost too much. His fingers trail through the water, bubbling with heat, boiling with his rage and grief. He walks forward.

Magnus drowns. He’s done it before.

Magnus blinks. The pot he was turning is ruined, squished between his fingers and burnt to stone. It turns to dust when he frees his hands. He has to bite back a sob. The grief… he can still feel it. He can’t live through that again, can’t lose another person he loves. He wouldn’t survive. He can’t find the city.

Magnus weeps. Weeps for his mother, the grief still strong and heartfelt. And weeps for his love, lost before he found him.

*

The oil lamps burn. His beloved's beautiful face is lit by the lamp-light that casts heavy shadows on the planes of his chest. He bites his lip, and even in the dim-lit darkness, Magnus can see he’s flushed. Then his beloved moves forward, presses his lips to Magnus’ mouth, while his hands rove over Magnus body. Everywhere he touches Magnus, Magnus’ skin is set on fire until his whole body is consumed by lust and love.

“Magnus…” his beloved whispers, voice filled with awe and affection.

Magnus blinks.

He closes his eyes again, trying to see what happens next, trying to grasp this elusive future he’s denying himself. But he can’t, the vision out of reach now.

*

The city burns.

Magnus is forcing himself towards the walls, pushing through the crowds fleeing in the opposite direction. The faceless people around him fill his ears with their screams until their desperate cries drown out the roaring of the fires. They’ve come.

Magnus is afraid. The fear grabs him by the throat, almost choking him until he loses his breath. He won’t make it. The fire keeps spreading and the fleeing crowd makes it impossible to reach…

Magnus blinks. His heart is hammering, chest heaving. He can feel his magic brewing in his blood, ready to burst out. He’d been so afraid, the terror still feels tangible, an acrid taste in his mouth. He can’t… Is his beloved going to die in a fire he caused? He can never go. He won’t be responsible for the death of the man he loves.

Magnus pours himself more wine.

*

The sun burns down on him, heat reflecting from the sandstone walls. He can see his beloved farther down, resting in the shade of a watchtower. Magnus is already smiling, but his smile only grows wider the closer he gets. His beloved turns around once he hears Magnus’ footsteps, a child cradled in his arm. He kisses Magnus hello, the smile lighting up his face as broad and bright as the one on Magnus’ face. The baby protests against being pressed between them, making them both chuckle. His beloved lifts the babe, making silly sounds and faces to it as he twirls them around.

Magnus’ heart bursts with happiness and love.

Magnus blinks. He gasps when he realizes it was another one of his cursed visions, his heart breaking. There’s a baby. Magnus is a father. In some forsaken future, that ends in brimstone and fire, Magnus has a child with a man he loves.

They’re worth it. A love like that… happiness like that… must be worth fighting for.

Magnus puts his wine on the table. He’s going to find them. He’s going to find out where they are.

*

The journey is long. Magnus travels mostly on foot, wary of the sea and where his father might take him, now he’s decided to try and change his fate by embracing it. Idris. The city that burns is called Idris. He’ll have to travel back to his homeland, will have to cross it and travel even beyond. But hope makes the journey bearable.

The longer he’s on the road, the drier the land gets, and the more frequently he encounters signs of ruin and destruction. Something has been scourging these lands, vulnerable villages often completely destroyed. He stays away from the coast, memories of his own destroyed village still fresh. He doesn’t need the reminder

He’s not alone on the roads; the closer he gets to Idris, the more refugees join his path. They wear their loss on their faces, empty eyes and silent mouths speaking loud and clear about death.

It fills Magnus with determination and dread. Determination to release this country from the curse it’s suffering from, dread that they might be walking towards even more death and destruction. There’s no escape in Idris. Not yet.

At night the dry land turns cold. He shares his campfire and bread with a mother and her two sons. He can see the missing children in the space they leave between them, the way they look around to pass on the water bag. They’re all hungry and tired, but the mother takes very little for herself. Her gratitude grates on Magnus skin. What use is there in feeding a woman when he lets her travel to her death? There’s no safety in Idris for these people.

He tries to warn the woman, carefully tells her that Idris will burn, will be destroyed just as the place where she came from. She looks at his mule, at the packages he’s traveling with, at the colored threads in his clothes. She spits at the fire. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to share your riches anymore.”

Before Magnus can object, can try to explain, she takes her children and leaves him alone by his fire. Magnus looks at the flames, desperation making his stomach churn. For the first time, he truly feels the weight of the second part of his curse. He can see the city burn in the fire, and knows there’s nothing he can do about it. No one will believe him.

The next evening, he tries again. And again. Desperate to reach someone, to save one life at least. He doesn’t stop trying, but somewhere along the way, he stops believing.

He continues his path, his step weary but never wavering. There’s a certain beauty in the inevitability of it all. After all, a man who has lived through bitter ordeals and traveled far, learns to enjoy even his misfortune after a while.

*

The walls feel familiar when he finally is about to cross them. Like he knows every nook and corner, like the warm stones recognize the fire within him and welcome him home.

He passes the gates, runed guards eyeing him warily because of his unadorned skin. Then he lets his feet carry him over the familiar pathways, leading into the heart of the city. His fingers trail the walls here and there as if to make sure he’s really here, and the city is still standing. It’s not burning yet.

It’s a strange feeling, the city both so familiar and so new. There are little differences that catch him off guard; a fountain that’s still being constructed, a little shop offering its wares where he’s seen a seamstress burn amidst her fabrics, a tree that feels smaller somehow. It’s the same city, but it’s not. And yet… he knows her.

His feet lead him to the barracks and training grounds, where he soon spots a familiar dark head amidst the training soldiers.

Magnus’ heart is hammering, his breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t thought that seeing his beloved in the flesh would have such an impact on him, nor has he spared any thoughts on how to proceed now he’s here. So he watches him from afar, while his beloved is instructing others in the art of archery.

Magnus has never seen him like this, this version of his beloved that doesn’t know Magnus, doesn’t love Magnus. He seems more serious, a little quieter. He instructs his soldiers in a clear voice, watches them with a frown on his face, hands clasped behind his back. But while he’s severe, he also seems patient, he doesn’t shower the recruits in mocking comments when none of them hit the targets, but instead corrects their forms and gives advice. Magnus is thrilled to find out his beloved is kind, when he watches him put the youngest recruit, a girl that can barely be 15, at ease with a joke. There are still so many things Magnus has to learn about him.

His beloved notches an arrow on his bow, demonstrating the correct pose and Magnus is mesmerized by the grace and fluidity of his movements, all that coiling power. He’s so distracted, he almost misses the ambitious youngster trying another shot of his own and failing miserably. At the panicked shout of warning, he only barely manages to step aside, the stray arrow embedding itself in the wooden paneling behind him.

Breathless, he turns around, only to find his beloved run towards him.

“Are you unharmed?” the man asks, voice somewhat breathless as well. “Trainees should know better than to shoot before making sure the arena is cleared.” He reaches out as if to touch Magnus, to make sure he’s all right, but freezes in the last moment.

“I’m fine, no harm done,” Magnus answers, equally out of breath. The man is even more stunning in reality, somehow. Magnus can’t stop looking at him, drinking him in. He’s here. Magnus could touch him if he dared to. Magnus can smell him, an oddly attractive mix of dust, sweat and the leather he’s wearing.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” he says eventually, breaking the charged silence. “I’m Magnus.”

His beloved blinks, mouth parted slightly, shaking his head a little, as if to pull himself out of a trance.

“Alexander,” he offers. A smile grows on his lips, first hesitant, then broader and broader, until his whole face is lit up with the warmth of his grin. It’s the first time Magnus sees him smile today, the first time he sees Alexander smile in reality, and it warms Magnus to the bone.

“Alexander,” Magnus whispers, trying the name out on his lips.

“I’m – um. I’m happy you’re unharmed.” Alexander seems flustered, and Magnus is charmed. Alexander, ‘Defender of men’. The name suits him. And it’ll fall to Magnus to look after Alexander, defend him from the fate in store for him.

“Me as well,” Magnus answers, a little wistful. If only Alexander knew of all the harm that’s yet to come.

But there must be some magic in Alexander’s smile, because Magnus can’t hold on to the fear and dread, can’t think of curses and gods, not when Alexander smiles at him like that. Like Magnus is a gift from the gods, blessing Alexander’s day.

So Magnus smiles back helplessly and lets himself be swept away.

*

Magnus burns. Alexander touches him with a mixture of lust and awe, and every soft caress sears itself into Magnus’ skin. Magnus touches his fingers to the runes littering Alexander’s skin, wonders if Alexander’s touch marks him in the same way. It feels like it, like Alexander brands him with his hands, drawing his love on Magnus’ skin.

Alexander rolls them around, pulls Magnus on top of him, tangling his fingers in Magnus’ hair to pull him down for a kiss. His lips are soft and insistent at once, his mouth hot and lovely where it opens for Magnus, begs Magnus to open in return. He takes Magnus’ breath away.

It’s almost too much, touching Alexander like this, being touched in turn with so much affection. Magnus is afraid. He’s afraid he might be seeing a future that might never come to fruit, afraid he might open his eyes any second now and that everything will be gone. Afraid that this is real and that he’ll lose this moment to the fire that will come too.

Alexander must feel his distress, because his touches somehow turn sweet and soothing, tender strokes down his back, a finger trailing Magnus’ cheekbone.

“I always dreamed of meeting someone like you,” Alexander whispers reverently.

Magnus closes his eyes, has to bite back tears. He ducks his head down, desperately tries to lose himself in Alexander's lips. He can't believe that Alexander, his lovely, loyal, honest Alexander, would dream about someone like him.

He can't help but think that Alexander only thinks he does, that he doesn't know the real Magnus. Doesn't know the blood running through his veins, the magic in his blood, the blood of his people on his hands. So much blood since he was born.

"Magnus, my heart," Alexander says. "Whatever it is that burdens you this much, you can tell me. Anything."

His arms are wrapped around Magnus' back, and despite everything, Magnus feels safe. Cherished. Loved. So, not quite looking Alexander in the eyes, he tells him his story.

"I've been dreaming about you for a long time," he starts. "Or maybe I should call them visions. You see, my father…. My father is a god..."

He speaks for a long time. Until his voice is hoarse, his mind feels empty, and his heart feels like it might break. Alexander keeps quiet and listens seriously, stroking his thumb in soft circles on Magnus' back.

When Magnus is done, they both stay quiet for a moment. Magnus' heart is heavy, weary of rejection. He's not sure if telling Alexander was part of any of the futures where he saw them happy together.

Then Alexander cradles his face and looks Magnus deep in the eyes. "I always thought you were magical," he whispers. He arches up, kisses Magnus softly on the lips, then on his cheeks, kissing away the tears streaming down Magnus' face.

When they part, Alexander still looks serious. "We need to save them," he says, voice determined. "We need to save the city."

Magnus' heart breaks all over again.

He's not sure anymore that they can be saved.

*

The city burns. Once the people started to light the bonfires, Magnus knew that this was it. The beginning of the end. He’s never been less filled with joy. And yet.

And yet.

Alexander is coming home, and Magnus’ heart skips a beat at the thought of his embrace. Of hiding away from the world in his beloved’s arms. The people let him through, excitement and longing spurring his step. He still looks like a foreigner, his skin forever looking naked to them without the rune tattoos declaring him one of them, but they know him. Magnus makes their serious prince smile, so they pretend to care about him, too.

The closer to the gates Magnus gets, the higher the excitement climbs. The people around him are celebrating, are singing and cheering with joy. He’s almost reached the gates, can see them loom over the rejoicing crowds, when he hears why the people are jubilating. Their golden prince has brought a bride.

Magnus’ heart sinks. This truly is it then. The spark that lights the fire.

Still, he smiles when he finally spots Alexander, laughs when Alexander swirls him around, uncaring of the people around him, sighs happily when Alexander kisses him with all the love and adoration his big heart holds for him.

But behind Alexander, the girl's red hair seems to burn in the sun, and Magnus can no longer pretend the future isn’t coming. “Alexander, that’s her,” he whispers against Alexander’s lips.

Alexander sighs, weary, and closes his eyes. “I know,” Alexander sighs, closing his eyes, his beautiful face worn out. “But he didn’t listen.”

Magnus' heart sinks further. He steps out of Alexander’s arms, looks at the girl properly while Jace introduces her to his parents. The red circle charm around her neck catches the light, and Magnus is overwhelmed with desperation and fear at the sight of it.

“We should turn back the girl,” he says. His voice rings loud and clear through the celebrations, turning heads. “Her people will come for her, and ruin us all.”

Jace steps forward, bristling with indignation. “What are you talking about? I love her and I’m marrying her, Clarissa is staying here. With me.”

Alexander steps up next to Magnus, hand a supporting warmth on Magnus’ lower back. “Mother, as I was going to report to you, I told Jace I disapproved of bringing Clarissa with us. We didn’t get her father’s permission, took her without consent. No matter her circumstances, it was a diplomatic disaster.”

It was a declaration of war, Magnus thinks.

Jace scowls at Alexander, who simply squares his shoulders. “Alexander, come on, she was unhappy there, Valentine didn’t treat her right. Rescuing was the right thing to do.”

“My father won’t care,” Clarissa says. “He only cares about his conquests to the east.”

Magnus scoffs, remembers the lands turned to ash he had to cross on his journey to Idris. “Your father doesn’t conquer, he only destroys. And he will come for you,” Magnus turns to the people, in a desperate attempt to make someone see sense. “He will come for us all… Idris will burn, its walls laid to ruin.” 

The people look at him as if he’s become mad.

“Enough!” Maryse says loudly. “The walls of Idris have stood tall for centuries, they’ll weather this storm too. If a storm comes at all.” She sneers the last part at Magnus, derision clear in her voice.

“Mother, the walls of Idris are strong, but they can still burn. Magnus has seen –” Alexander tries, but his mother cuts off his plea with a gesture.

“I won’t turn away my son’s bride. Let Valentine come. This is Idris, we don’t cower from consequences.” She turns to the crowds, in an obvious dismissal. “Our beloved prince has returned. And he’s brought a bride! Let us rejoice and celebrate! Now is a time to feast.”

Where was the feast when Alexander announced our betrothal? Magnus thinks bitterly. Then he sees the faces of the people around him, how they avoid making eye-contact, and yet manage to make their contempt and dislike clear. They look at him like he’s something dirty.

No one speaks against their golden prince and keeps the acceptance of the people of Idris.

Alexander takes his hand. “Let’s go home,” he says. “We’ll find another way to save them.”

Magnus doubts it.

*

The plains burn. Valentine’s army is so vast, the light of its campfires seems to form a sea of fire, helped by the dawning sun. Magnus is on the bulwark, looking out over the battlefield, when Alexander finds him. Their son lies quietly in Magnus’ arms, cradled against his chest. He’s sheltered from the brutality of war by Magnus’ protective hold, and the deep sleep of the innocent. How Magnus wishes he could sleep like that. But he hasn’t been innocent for years.

Below them, the yellow sand has turned dark with the spilled blood of Idris and Circle soldiers alike. It’s not a sight children should be witness to. But the war has been raging for three years now and it might rage on for another three. Their son was born into this war, and Magnus knows in his heart he will die in it. He’s known since the first time he held Titus, when Alexander brought him home after his parents, both soldiers under his command, had died on the battlefield that day. There will be no escape for him, except for now, sleeping in the warm embrace of his father.

Alexander keeps catching his eye, his stride long and filled with purpose, his armor glittering in the morning sun. He looks ready for battle, his Alexander. Brow furrowed and his expression serious, bow and quiver on his back, and helmet under his arm. He looks like a man ready to die.

Magnus swallows, looks back to the battlefield, empty for now, except for the broken weapons and broken bodies that haven’t been recovered yet.

“Here you are,” Alexander says once he’s reached Magnus at the parapet. He places his helmet on the wall, follows Magnus’ gaze towards the sand. He's standing close enough that Magnus can feel the heat pouring of off his armor, but not close enough to be touching. They haven't touched each other since Valentine voiced his challenge, calling for Alexander to face him on the battlefield, clamoring for a duel with a prince of Idris to decide the fate of both their people.

"I need to go," Alexander says. He sounds as weary as Magnus feels.

Magnus has known this moment was coming since before they met. Has seen parts of this conversation play out a thousand times. There's nothing left for them but fire, destruction and death. And yet…

And yet.

Magnus sighs. “Your honor will bring nothing but destruction. I’ve lost my mother... Lost my people... Lost my land and my home..." He takes a deep breath, turns toward Alexander to see him better, to try and reach his heart. He cuddles their son closer, seeking comfort in the warm, little body.

"Don't make me lose the man I love,” he pleads. “I wouldn’t be able to bear it, Alexander. I would be better off dead than to be left all alone to mourn you. Don't make me lose you too…” ‘Don't make me lose my son’ he leaves unsaid, that future too painful to speak into existence.

Alexander knows.

He's always known.

"I can't stay," Alexander says, his voice so soft it's almost a whisper. He turns to Magnus, lifts his hand as if to touch him, then lets it fall back. Magnus can feel the phantom caress on his skin. It burns.

"It's my duty. My honor is at stake. I can't let others die for what my family did, Magnus. Look at them," he says, waving his hand towards the battlefield, as if Magnus doesn't know his people have been dying on the field in droves.

"I can't let any more people die. If I'm offered a chance to settle this war, I can’t not take it. I can't not go, Magnus. No matter... no matter how much I'd want to stay.” The ‘with you’ remains unsaid.

Magnus knows this. Has known this before he and Alexander met. Nobody ever wants to stay with him.

“There’s nothing but death for you out there. The city burns, Alexander.” Magnus waves behind them. “This all, the city, the people, these walls… Idris will burn, Alexander. No matter if you go. Valentine lies.”

Alexander sighs, all the fight and strength seemingly leaving his body. “I know. He won’t stop until we’re all destroyed. Until he’s murdered Jace and got Clarissa back. His offer is a ruse. I know all that. But he offered. And the whole city heard. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Once the killing starts up again, with every death the city will see another dead child that might have lived. If only Prince Alexander was a man of honor and fought for us.” Alexander shakes his head. “It’s my duty to fight for them. They’re my people. It’s my duty to die for them.”

“And what of your duty to me? To your son? What happened to your promises to us? Will you simply walk onto the battlefield, shoot your arrows and never think of us again?” He knows Alexander loves them both, but Magnus can’t take this.

Alexander groans in anguish. “Magnus, you know that isn’t true. I love you. I love our son. But duty and honor are more important than the wishes of my heart. I’m riding out to save you as much as the city. I can’t stay here and do nothing. If…” Alexanders heaves in a distraught breath, wipes his hand over his face. “If the city is truly to burn… I can’t watch you die, Magnus. I need to try.”

Magnus’ heart breaks. He knows the man he loves, knows the man he married. Even if he hadn’t foreseen their future, he’d still know the truth of Alexander’s heart. Alexander will never, ever leave his people. Not for Magnus, not even for his son.

He’s honorable like that.

So Magnus sighs and turns to the battlefield again. “You will leave me a widower, a lone stranger amongst people who loathe me and don’t believe me. The city will be breached, I will fight for our son, and he’ll be left an orphan. You will save no one.”

His words are cold, devoid of feeling. He’s had years to prepare himself for this moment after all, has seen this from the start. He was a fool to chase love anyway.

Alexander stays quiet.

“I wish you’d believe me,’ Magnus murmurs, feeling the true weight of his curse today.

Alexander turns to him and reaches forward, grabbing Magnus’ hand. “I do believe you, Magnus. I do. I believe everything you’ve told me. I’ve always believed you.” His cheeks are wet with tears while he pleads with Magnus, stirring emotion from Magnus' walled-up heart. “I believe you. I know what’s coming. I just don’t see another way. Everything else has failed.”

Magnus can feel his own eyes tear up, Alexander becoming blurry in front of him. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know, Alexander.” He’s always known.

Alexander topples forward, eyes squeezed shut, and rests his head against Magnus’. “If I could,” Alexander whispers. “I’d take you and Titus, and walk away from everything. Take a ship and sail into the sunset. I truly wish I could, Magnus.”

Magnus shifts Titus so he can hold him with one arm, and can caress Alexander’s cheek with the other. “I know,” he says again. Because he does. The loyalty in Alexander’s heart always was one of the many facets of his personality Magnus fell in love with. “I love you, Alexander. I’ve always known the kind of man I fell in love with.”

In the distance, the Circlemen blow a war horn. The time has come. Alexander sighs, takes a deep breath, as if he’s putting this moment to memory. Then he straightens and reaches for his helmet, putting it on. Magnus helps with one hand, making sure all the straps are pulled tight.

Then he steps back, admiring his beloved one last time. It’s a marvelous sight, Alexander in his golden armor.

The movements jostle the baby in his arm, waking Titus up. Alexander looks down at him, smiling at his sleepy face and soft protesting sounds. But when he reaches out a careful hand to stroke his chubby cheeks, the sun catches on the gold plating of his helmet, the crest of horse-hair waving in the wind, startling him. Titus starts to cry, hiding away in Magnus' chest, making them both smile.

Alexander takes off his helmet again, puts it on the wall. “Hey now, little one, don’t be scared.”

He takes Titus out of Magnus’ arms and blows kisses on his cheeks until he’s laughing, and Alexander and Magnus laugh as well, smiles breaking through their tears. For one single moment, the war is forgotten. No deaths, no burning city, no Circle out for the last blood of their people. Just them and their son, sharing a moment of love.

Magnus freezes. It’s this moment, this moment of joy and happiness and pure unadulterated love that he saw all those years ago. It was this moment that made him seek out Alexander, despite foreseeing he would lose him eventually.

He wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

As if he knows, Alec cradles their son against his chest and leans forward, tugging Magnus towards him with that strong arm of his. His lips are soft and tender when he kisses Magnus, cheeks still wet with his tears. Magnus wants to linger, wants to savor this moment forever, but every perfect moment always comes to end. Alexander lets go of his mouth, forehead still pressed to his. In the distance, the war horn sounds again.

“I don’t want to go,” Alec whispers against Magnus’ lips. “I want to stay with you, watch our son grow tall. Be happy together. We deserve some happiness.”

“I want you to stay too,” Magnus whispers back. He’s never wanted anything more in life.

“I can’t.” It’s a curse and a plea for understanding all at once.

“I know you can’t.” Magnus has always known.

Alexander pulls back. He kisses their son’s forehead, lingers for a moment to breathe in his soft baby scent, then he hands him over to Magnus, who puts Titus in his basket. Alexander puts on his helmet again, hiding away his wet cheeks. Magnus checks his straps, then checks on the rest of Alexander’s armor. “No use in tempting fate,” he jokes, tone flat and a little sarcastic.

He smooths his hands over Alexander’s chest piece, putting the curve of his musculature to memory. Then he runs his hands over Alexander’s lean and strong arms, whose comforting strength and tender embrace he’ll never feel again. Magnus squeezes Alexander’s hands, biting back more tears, while tries to recall every little touch of those hands. “No time to linger,” he tells himself. He loosens Alexander’s wrist-guard – he knows his husband, they’re never tied tight enough – and raises his arm, so he can press a kiss to Alexander’s wrist. He can feel the pulse of Alexander’s heart against his lips, and he puts that to memory as well.

With a deep sigh, he tightens Alexander’s wrist guard again, then he takes a step back.

Alexander is looking at him so fondly, with so much adoration and love in his eyes, Magnus has to swallow, fighting the emotion clogging up his throat.

“It’s not goodbye,” Alexander whispers. “I’ll make my way back to you. How could I not? With you waiting for me.” He reaches for Magnus, his big strong hand cradling Magnus’ head ever so softly while he kisses Magnus' lips.

“In this life or the next,” Magnus acknowledges when they finally part.

Alexander nods, takes a step back to look at their son, then turns around to leave for the battlefield. Magnus watches him go, until his glittering armor disappears into the ocean of armored people getting ready for battle.

*

Idris burns. The battle rages through the city, fire and death everywhere. The Circle members seem monstrous and vile up close, their determination to destroy every living soul in Idris obvious in the madness in their eyes and the blood on their hands. Magnus is bracing himself, guarding the Homestead Gate. If the Circle members get through, there's only the old and the young behind him, hiding away in the safety of their homes. Magnus is the last one holding them at bay, all other citizens able to fight either death or fighting elsewhere.

There's no relief coming. No other way to survive than kill every Circle member that came through the gates. So Magnus fights, wielding dual swords, killing one raging madman after another. He has no idea how long he fights, how many he kills... all he knows is that no one passes the Gate as long as Magnus is breathing.

Then the screaming starts, so different from the shouts and crying of the battlefields. It's the sound of a weeping child.

Magnus looks over his shoulder, sees the burning houses behind him, and screams in rage and fear. His son.... they can't get to his son...

Magnus runs. Breaths heaving, smoke making it hard to breathe and clouding his vision, he makes it to the house where he shared short years of happiness with Alexander. The house is burning, just like the rest of the city. Still, Magnus runs inside. Neither his son nor Maryse is anywhere to be found. That's when he hears the wail.

He runs outside, frantically running around until he spots them. Maryse's broken body is draped over the stairs, climbing against the heavy city wall. And there, barely visible through the smoke, is his son. A Circle member is grinning, battle madness obvious in the shocks of his movements, one hand wrapped around his son's small ankle. The baby is wailing, being held upside down.

Magnus is frozen in terror a fraction of a second too long. Desperate, he gathers his magic to blast the Circle member and try and catch his son, when the Circle member spots him and grins diabolically. While Magnus screams, he drops their son over the other side of the wall.

Magnus blinks. He’s gripping the wall so tightly, his fingers have turned white. His magic is a broiling inferno inside of him, raging to be let out.

He's always seen himself mourn, has never had to suffer through a vision of his son's death. Living through Alexander dying, again and again, was horrifying enough. He has always felt blessed he was spared their son's death, even if it didn't make it less certain he was going to perish just like them all.

But now... It doesn't mean it's going to happen, he tells himself. There are many futures, and this is but one of the paths that can unfold. And yet...

And yet.

Magnus can't take the risk. He can't lose his son as well as his love. Not like this.

He won't.

*

Magnus releases his magic. It rushes out, freed from the tight control Magnus held over it all these years. He leaves his post and rushes through the Homestead Gate, blasting a bolt of magic at every Circle member he sees, no care for his surroundings or who else he might harm. He needs to get to his son.

He rushes through the city, ignoring the people yelling after him. He doesn’t care he’s supposed to guard them. If they wanted his protection, they should have listened to his warnings.

Their home seems unharmed, but there's something in the surrounding smoke and quiet that chills Magnus to the bone, and he knows, he knows he might be too late.

Inside, tables and chairs are overturned and he can hear the grunts and clash of weapons signifying people fighting. He doesn't waste time on being quiet, almost stumbles over a fallen stool in his haste to get to the nursing room. The sight inside almost makes his heart stop. The Circle member from his dreams is standing over their son's crib, a bleeding Maryse trying to pull herself up at the wall, desperately reaching for her sword.

Magnus doesn't hesitate. With one complicated movement of his hand, he showers the Circle member with a cone of fire, with the other hand he casts a protective shield over the crib. Screams of agony and fear fill the room, Maryse a witness to his rage. When the room turns quiet, Magnus still doesn't stop, burning the man until there's nothing left of him but ash, while he steadily makes his way to the crib.

He's greeted by the frightened face of his son, chubby cheeks wet with tears, lips wobbly. "Hey, little one," Magnus coos. "No need to be afraid anymore. I'm here." He takes Titus out of his crib and cradles him to his chest, the baby hiding his face in Magnus’ clothes. His tears and movement remind him of earlier. But there's no sun here, no laughter, no love... just smoke and brimstone and Magnus' magic, still burning with rage. "It's time we get your father."

He wipes the baby’s wet cheeks, then carefully reaches out with his magic to calm him down, whispering a lullaby while he puts Titus to sleep. His son shouldn’t be awake for what comes next.

Magnus wraps up Titus safely and binds him to his back.

“We should have believed you,” Maryse groans, clutching at her side. She’s bleeding out. For a moment, Magnus is taken over by gratitude – she’ll die because she tried to save his and Alexander’s son – but Magnus can’t tend to her. There’s no time. If he wants to save them, he needs to leave now.

“You should have,” he says.

He doesn’t look back when he rushes out of the burning house.

*

The city burns.

Magnus wades through the fighting crowds, Titus safely on his back, blasting magic at everyone who tries to stand in his way, Circle member or citizens of Idris. It doesn't matter anymore. They never were his people, never claimed him as one of their own. It is only now, in their final hour of need, that they have a use for him.

Magnus is done with being used.

When he nears the outer gates, suddenly Jace is there. "Are you abandoning your post?" he spits. Magnus can hear the 'I expected no less from a foreigner like you' in his voice.

Magnus shakes his head. He has no time or patience for the one responsible for all of this death. "I'm going to my post. My place is at Alexander's side."

Jace swallows, looks grief-stricken and heartbroken for a moment. "Alexander," he whispers. "I didn't mean... I didn't think…” He takes a breath, pulls himself together. “I saw what you can do. We can't win this without you, Magnus. Alexander is dead. But we might yet live. If you stay and fight."

Magnus smiles, a hint of madness in the glint of his eyes. Yet. If only Jace realized the power in that simple word. How long Magnus used it to deceive himself, give himself hope where he should have had none.

Magnus is done with lying to himself too.

“It’s you who should have died,” he says, low and menacing. “You who should have sacrificed yourself for your people. All of this –” Magnus waves to the battle raging around them, smoke rising from his fingers in his rage. “All of this is your fault. If only you had listened to me. To Alexander. Listened to our warnings. You are the golden prince, you had your mother’s ear. You could have stopped this at any time. But you didn’t. And now Alexander –”

Magnus bites back a sob.

“It’s too late now, Jace. I’m done. I’m done with all of you.” Magnus turns around and walks away, through the gates. Jace screams something after him, but Magnus doesn’t turn around.

Alexander is not dead yet, and Magnus isn't going to let him die.

*

The city burns behind Magnus, some of it his doing. Big billowing clouds of dark smoke climb up to the sun, darkening the day. Magnus doesn't need the light to guide him to Alexander. He follows the beat of his heart, the pull of his love. He leaves screaming Circle members in his wake, burning them all.

The times are dark, but Magnus is a burning comet, ready to unleash hell on earth.

*

The world burns.

The closer to Valentine's main encampment Magnus gets, the more Circle members he has to burn, and the bigger the cone of fire he casts. It's starting to pull on the last of his magic reserves, but he still has a long way to go to get to Alexander, has to pass at least half of the battlefield.

Deep down, he's always known it would come to this. Has always feared this moment. Until now. Because there's no grain of hesitation inside him, not a smidge of doubt. Alexander is worth it. So when a large and looming Circle member advances on him, and Magnus can feel his power sputter, he finally truly lets go. The time has come to embrace his power.

The rush is immediate, magic flowing through his veins, filling every part of him. The hairs on his skin rise, static crackling around him. He snaps his fingers, and the cone of fire turns into a wide circle, burning everything in its wake. The screams of terror of the Circle members stop abruptly once Magnus' fire reaches them. There is no time to run, no place to hide – the war has long ago stripped the fields around Idris' walls of any shelter. He will kill them all.

Magnus steps forward, his magic and fire moving with him, ever growing. He can taste the magic on his tongue, taste the ash and anguish and death. It tastes like victory.

The world burns, and Magnus finally feels alive.

Magnus burns himself a path across the battlefield. He doesn't slow down once he reaches the encampment, just swirls his hands to focus all the force of his rage on the palisade. How foolish these Circle members are, thinking a mere wooden palisade could slow him down. The massive walls of Idris couldn't keep him in, this poor imitation won't keep him out.

He burns the wall away, burns the guards running to defense, and makes his way towards the hill in the center, where Valentine is waiting for him.

He doesn't show fear, the madman responsible for all of this death, using his runaway daughter as an excuse. He should.

"You're not from Idris," Valentine remarks, looking at his runeless skin. "And that power… You were born to one of the gods." There's an odd mix of disdain and awe in his voice. Magnus arches his brow, gathers his magic, his father's magic, close to him, ready to rain down destruction on Valentine if he so much as moves a foot.

"You're not of Idris, so why come to its defense?"

Valentine shifts a little, the movement betraying he's not as calm as he appears. Behind him, Magnus can now see the cages.

"I've come to retrieve my husband."

Valentine laughs. Magnus doesn't have the patience for this. "You will give him back to me," Magnus declares. "Or I will burn you like I burned the rest of your people. No matter the gifts bestowed upon you by the gods supporting you in this forsaken war, you're still a mere human underneath. Are you sure you want to test your gifts against mine?”

"Will you leave the battlefield, leave Idris, once you've retrieved this elusive husband of yours?" Valentine asks, after looking at Magnus calculatingly. "Leaving me and my men unharmed?"

Magnus doesn't hesitate. All he cares about is getting Alexander back. "I will."

Valentine grins, his teeth filed to points. "If you go back on your word, Lilith will know. There's no escaping the wrath of a god like her."

Magnus smiles. Lilith. No wonder Valentine believes he's unbeatable. No one would dare to go against the Queen. And yet.

And yet.

She would hesitate to start a war with Magnus’ father and wouldn't kill his son.

"I swear," Magnus says. "Bring me my husband, alive, no further harm done to him, and I'll retreat us both from this war."

Valentine nods. "And who might it be, who owns the heart of a child of the gods?"

"Bring me Alexander."

For a moment, Valentine looks struck. Then he laughs, head thrown back, hands clapped together. "Alexander. It can't be. He mustn't know, not when a power like this was at his fingertips."

Magnus doesn’t respond. Valentine juts his chin at one of the Circle members, and tense moments later, four of them carry forth a cage. They set it down next to them and at the sight of Alexander, Magnus is almost overpowered by his magic, surging forward in his rage. But he can’t risk Titus, so deep into the lion’s den, so he holds on. Barely.

"He should have used you," Valentine says, looking at Alexander, unconscious in his cage. He's bloody and broken, meant to starve to death in this cage meant for dogs, but he's still breathing. That's enough.

"He would never," Magnus says. "Which is exactly why I'd burn the world for him."

Valentine doesn't comment, so Magnus snaps his fingers impatiently, opening the cage. He carefully summons Alexander's body to him and cradles him in his arms, one arm under his legs, the other supporting his back.

Up close, Alexander looks dreadful, cheeks pale and gaunt, blood crusty on his lips, one eye black and blue and shut tight. He's barely alive, but he's breathing, shallowly. Magnus wants to burn the world and then start all over again. No one touches his Alexander.

Valentine gestures, letting Magnus pass. But from the corner of his eyes, he can see him nod at one of his soldiers. The Circle member notches an arrow, but before he can shoot, Magnus envelops him in fire, burning so hot the man can’t even scream. "Thought I needed my hands, didn't you?" he says. "Seems you thought wrong."

The magic inside of him is hungry, is eager for him to lash out. So it's easy, to let it go, raise a wall of fire so none of Valentine's soldiers can get to him. He creates a pathway for himself, leading out of the encampment, leaving a powerless Valentine behind him.

He makes his way out of the encampment and through the battlefield, blind to the death and those still fighting, his only care to reach the coast. He settles Alexander down on the beach, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "I've got you," Magnus murmurs. "I'm never letting you go again."

He's lost his helmet, but the armor on his chest is still shining, reflecting the light of the sun when it breaks through the smoke. There's an arrow still lodged into his chest. It must have had some kind of magic behind it to have pierced the armor like it did, and Magnus curses Lilith and everything she's ever touched.

He takes Alexander's hand in his, praying to his father for the first time in his life, begging to ease his beloved’s pain. Then he carefully pulls out the arrow, mindful of the hooks. The wound is festering already, a side effect of the evil magic Valentine has doused the arrows of his army in. If not for Magnus having magic, Alexander would be dead. Magnus has seen him die like this, bleeding out on this beach. And yet.

He’s not dead yet.

Magnus pulls the power of his father to him once more, and stops Alexander's bleeding, healing his wounds. But the magic of his father isn't meant for healing, it only wants to destroy. So it takes all that Magnus has left to bring back Alexander from the death.

They're still stranded on a beach.

Magnus checks if Titus is still sleeping securely on his back, then lifts Alexander in his arms again, resting his head against his shoulder.

The Circle's ships aren't far away, but Magnus is getting tired, and again, when he tries his father's magic, it doesn’t want to be used for something as benevolent as getting them on one of the ships.

Magnus bites back a sob. They’re so close to escaping, the salt of the sea on his lips tasting like freedom. But that same sea is now separating him and Alexander from their ship.

His father whispers on the wind, his voice seducing him. The waves break at his feat, calling his name.

Alexander moans, feverish in his recovery.

He's seen them die here, caught between the sea and a raging army, slaughtered and drowning. They’ve died here many times. And yet.

And yet his father's magic whispers in the waves.

“What will it take?” Magnus yells out over the water. “What is it you want?”

“A sacrifice,” is the answer that travels down the water.

Magnus closes his eyes in defeat, chest heaving while he desperately tries to think. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and carefully puts Alexander down again. Then he spreads his arms wide, turning around to face the battlefield. The surf laps at his feet. In front of him, the battle still rages, the city still burns. Valentine's army is moving around the wall of fire he held them back with, and is now storming towards them.

Magnus calls on the magic of his father one last time. It wells up in him like the water crashing around his calves, a storm of power and rage engulfing him. For the blink of an eye, he thinks he'll drown in it, that it'll overpower him and he'll be swallowed whole. Then he can feel it lift him, water swirling at his feet, pushing him upwards, circling slowly.

Once he towers above the beach he looks at the battlefield. Valentine's fighters have come close enough he can see the fear and horror on their faces. Good.

Magnus lifts an arm to the sky and feels the see rise with it, a big powerful surge of mass. He raises his other hand. Repeats the motions until the sea is in a frenzy. Then, without hesitation, he slaps his hands together, forcing all the water forward.

The city burns. But the battlefield floods.

Magnus creates a magical wave that grows and grows, lowering the sea level below him. The wave rushes to the battlefield, towers over it. The water's rushing too loud for Magnus to hear the screaming, but he can imagine it well enough. He sees them run, but the tide waits for no one, and Magnus is a tidal wave of rage and grief. There's no escaping him.

One moment there's little black figures running for their lives, the next one, the giant wave crashes down, swallowing everything in its wake. The living, the dead, everything is swallowed by the water.

Magnus drops down, burying his feet in the sand. He doesn't look at the destruction in front of him, doesn't look at how the wave crashes against the walls of Idris and rolls back. He only has eyes for Alexander. Still brimming with his father's power, lifting Alexander is easy, and with all the water moved, he can simply walk up to the ship, the water never reaching higher than his calves, the sea parting before his feet.

He lifts himself up to board the ship. It's a war ship, meant to be rowed by soldiers. But Magnus won't need those. He's a Prince of the Deep. The current will take him where he needs to go.

He carefully lays Alexander down on the wooden deck, makes him as comfortable as possible on the netting. He settles Titus as well, his face still peaceful in his magical sleep, oblivious to the destruction his father just wrought.

The wave rolling back crashes around them, lifting their ship from its anchor, sweeping it to the open sea, while the other ships around them are turned into driftwood by its force.

They're sailing to freedom.

Above them, the smoke and clouds thin out, the further from the cursed coastline they move. When the sun finally breaks through, the rays reflect from Alexander's armor. It makes Magnus laugh through his tears, in a bleak reprisal of their earlier goodbye, which feels eons ago now.

The sunlight gets stronger, lighting up Alexander's features. His eyelids flicker, but still, Magnus lets out a heavy breath when he finally opens his eyes, one still bruised and painful. And yet.

And yet.

Despite his wounds, despite almost dying, when Alexander sees his face, he smiles.

"Magnus," he breathes softly.

"My Alexander," Magnus responds, his voice breaking. Tears are running down his face, no matter how much he tries to wipe them away.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Alexander says softly, still smiling. The sun has nothing on him, loses its shine in comparison to the warmth and light in the face Magnus loves so much. Alexander is light, so maybe Magnus should have realized he'd always turn to darkness.

"I couldn't let you die," Magnus sobs.

"Don't cry," Alexander says, lifting his hand to gently wipe the tears from his cheek. "I knew you'd come for me." He looks around for a moment until he spots their son, then smiles again, in affection and relief. "This is not one of your visions, Magnus. We're all here, we're all safe."

He can't see the city burn, Magnus realizes. Sees only them, safely on a ship. He doesn't know what destruction Magnus left in his wake. Doesn't know his people burned or drowned. Doesn’t know the fate of his family. Doesn't know what lengths Magnus went to for him. Doesn't know of the deal Magnus made with his father.

He doesn't know that this is the first future Magnus saw, and fought to avoid at all costs.

"We are," Magnus says, heart heavy.

The city burns.

They live.

 

 

_"There is nothing alive more agonized than man_  
_of all that breathe and crawl across the earth."  
_―_ Homeros, The Iliad  _―__

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the goodbye scene between Hector (Alec) and Andromache (Magnus, who also is based on Cassandra) in book VI of the Iliad. I once cried during an exam Ancient Greek having to translate this scene, and it forever stuck with me. My goodbye scene between Alec and Magnus follows it pretty closely, but that's probably where all similarities with the Iliad end. I didn't quite manage to give the Trojans the happy ending they deserved, but at least someone got to sail off into the sunset.
> 
> The scene where Magnus can't reach the ships and has to make a sacrifice is vaguely inspired on the plot of Iphigenia, where Agamemnon has to sacrifice his daughter to convince the gods to get wind in his sails.
> 
> "After all, a man who has lived through bitter ordeals and traveled far, learns to enjoy even his misfortune after a while." This is an adapted line from the Odyssey, also by Homeros. (I still think the English speaking world missed a golden opportunity by not calling that the Odyssea).
> 
> Title is from the song [Troy by Sinéad O'Connor](https://youtu.be/0c4v7fp5GC8), which has otherwise nothing to do with this fic, except it's suitably dramatic.
> 
> While writing, I listened to [Karaindrou: Trojan Women](https://open.spotify.com/album/1Wh6PpzhLyIq3f6h9WYvcr?si=VcWAdXNtToy6PurYq9_cUw), the score for the stageplay by Euripides a lot.
> 
> *
> 
> A huge amount of gratitude towards my beta for all her patience, hard work, and amazing commentary and support throughout this endeavor. I couldn't have done this without [poemsfromthealley](https://poemsfromthealley.tumblr.com/) | [paperiuni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperiuni/pseuds/paperiuni), so all the kudos to her. 
> 
> Thank you to [RedOrchid](actuallyredorchid.tumblr.com) for creating the banner for this fic, which I'm sure can't have been easy.
> 
> Thank you to the mods of the SH Hiatus Bang, as always it was a pleasure.
> 
> *
> 
> When I started out, I simply wanted to write an Iliad AU. Only I'd always favored the Trojans, so with Alec and Magnus as Hector and Andromache/Cassandra, that meant a very sad ending for everyone involved. I kept breaking my head on how to give them a happy one, but no one in a Greek Tragedy ever gets that. Then the cancelation happened, and I just wanted to burn things down. So Magnus did. It was very cathartic.
> 
>    
> I would love to discuss this fic, or anything else related to Alec and Magnus. I can be found at [tumblr](http://janoda.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/janoda), although I'm currently trying to give my mental health a break from the cancellation sadness.


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